


Friends Since Forever

by Im_so_clumsy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Early Days, Friendship, Gen, Misunderstandings without angst, Not so early days, These two are Adorable Idiots, They totally aren't keeping tabs on each other you're clearly imagining things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_so_clumsy/pseuds/Im_so_clumsy
Summary: Sometimes the smallest gestures, even the ones we don't realize we're making, mean the most.Some gestures don't mean what you think they do.Oneshots of their relationship through the ages.Updated sporadically as ideas come to me. Not in any particular order.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Does this mean we're friends?

**Author's Note:**

> My first step into this fandom. I've only seen the Amazon series but am hoping to read the book soon.  
> I tried to get the voice of god as narrator but I'm not sure if I managed it.

Aziraphale would have to think for three minutes and seventeen seconds before he could remember the first time it happened. It wasn’t that what happened wasn’t important. In fact, it was very important. It was something that changed the course of history.  


It took place in Italy in the year 102 A.D. Aziraphale had arrived two hours earlier than scheduled and performed an extra miracle and three more blessings than he had been ordered. At 5:18 in the evening Aziraphale walked into a café. And it was a complete coincidence that Crowley had been sitting in the back of the very café that Aziraphale had just happened to walk into.  


“Crowley?” Aziraphale greeted, a smile came to his face when the demon looked to him.  


“Aziraphale,” the demon returned with surprise, a hint of delight in the word. There might have been a slight twitch of Crowley’s lips that would indicate the smile that he would never admit he wanted to give. "How are the miracles going?”  


“Oh, uh, splendidly. And the temptations?”  


Crowley shrugged. “Hit or miss really. Humans get distracted so easily. One minute a man’s about to commit adultery and the next he’s worried because his shop is on fire.” He shrugged. “Though I might’ve brought that on myself by convincing someone to take revenge on the guy that insulted him earlier.”  


Aziraphale frowned.  


“What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be blessing someone’s flock of sheep right now? It’s not like you to be late.”  


“Early, actually. I already did the blessing. He was very pleased.” Aziraphale’s face held a strange expression that was a mixture of confusion and delight. “How did you-?”  


"How about dinner?” Crowley finished his drink. “It’s been, what, two decades?”  


It had been nineteen years, two months, seventeen days, eight hours, and six minutes.  


"There’s a delightful seafood restaurant not far from here.”  


Crowley shrugged and stood.  


Then it happened.  


The angel turned his back to Crowley without hesitation.  


Crowley watched the angel walk away and tried to figure out if he felt insulted or not. The angel could’ve at least _pretended_ to be wary of him. Not that having Aziraphale’s trust was the _worst_ thing in the universe.  


Crowley caught up to Aziraphale and decided to see if it was just a one-time thing.


	2. The night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble of Crowley being snarky. Along the way it turned serious and sweet.

“I appreciate when it you do this, you know.”

Crowley tensed and scowled over his coffee cup. “Do what?”

“You convinced the waiter to give us a different table.”

Crowley was bewildered. Aziraphale had done the same thing plenty of times.

“I know _why_ you did it,” he continued with unnecessary secrecy.

“I really don’t think you do, Angel.”

“Of course I do.”

Crowley stared at him for three seconds while he tried- and failed- to figure out what Aziraphale thought he had been doing, There was no doubt in the demon’s mind, based on Aziraphale’s reaction, that the angel had misinterpreted his motives. He leaned forward. “Alright, Angel. Why do I do it?”  
“You want me to say it?” Aziraphale replied, the surprise enough for him to lower his fork.   
The smile on Crowley’s face had started to become a smirk. “That is _exactly_ what I want.”

Suddenly suspicious, the angel straightened. “Why?”

“Because I want to know what you think.”

“You just want to prove me wrong.”

The demon rolled his eyes. 

Aziraphale huffed. Curiosity got the better of him so he continued. “You do it for the same reason you’ve _always_ done.”

The confusion turned into surprise. Did Aziraphale actually know?

“You heard what those people were talking about, realized I would be uncomfortable with the subject matter, and insisted on another table away from their dubious topics.” 

Crowley grinned. “Not at _all_ the reason I asked for a new table.”

“Then why do it?”

He shook his head and drank more coffee. 

“You _must_ tell me.” Aziraphale's tone was very familiar, though not used often. He would not let Crowley leave the restaurant without an answer.

Crowley looked for a way out as his stomach twisted. “Why? I could tell you anything. I’m a demon; I lie.”

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale scoffed. “I know when you’re lying.” 

Crowley really wished he could argue that point. “Well, doesn’t matter now. How’s the dessert?”

“It’s delicious,” the angel smiled. Then frowned, affronted. “You are not going to distract me with food, Crowley.”

Crowley shrugged to show that he didn't care the strategy that had never failed before was suddenly useless. Behind his glasses snake-like eyes flicked around the room. “I’ll tell you what, Angel. I will tell you in eighty-five years.”

“Eighty-five?” Aziraphale repeated. “Why eighty-five?”

“Eighty-five’s a great number,” he defended. “I have my reasons.” 

(He had a single reason. That reason being he had panicked, seen the year on the wine label, and picked the last two numbers).

“Fine,” Aziraphale eventually agreed. “But I expect the truth.” 

“I’m not going to _lie_ to you.” Crowley amended, “Well, not about this.”

(Not about anything, really. But Aziraphale didn’t need to know that).

~*~

Some years later the demon and the angel collapsed on Crowley's couch. Crowley let his heal roll to the side to face the angel. There was silence for a moment.

“I don’t have any books.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile. “That’s quite alright. I’ll find a way to pass the time.”

“I have a telly,” he offered. “Seven-hundred-and-eighty-two channels; there’s got to be something you’ll like.”

“I’m sure there will be.”

“So… when do you want to do it?” 

“Can we wait a few hours?”

“Of course; you just got your body back.” Crowley smiled. “Makes sense you’d want to stick with it for a bit. So, telly?”

The screen turned on with a snap. With another snap a small remote appeared. The remote was so basic that it was likely impossible to buy anywhere but a second-hand store or antique shop. There were five clearly labeled buttons. Two were to control the volume, two to change that channel, and one power button to turn it off when the angel decided television was 1) a waste of time 2) full of horrible, sinful, distasteful content or 3) too overwhelming due to the sheer amount of choices. 

Aziraphale took it slowly.

“It’s not going to bite you, Angel.”

Aziraphale turned the channel. Then turned it off.

“I know the news isn’t the most interesting thing, but you still have seven-hundred-and-eighty channels to go.” Crowley frowned in worry. “Aziraphale? What’s wrong?” 

“Eighty-five years ago we had a conversation over dinner.” 

“Um, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Angel We’ve had a lot of conversations over a lot of dinners.”

“I asked you a question and you promised you’d tell me the truthful answer in eighty-five years. It seems that time is up.”

“What question?” Crowley knew exactly which question. He wanted to answer it now as much as he did then. Not yet. It would be too much. Too _fast_ and Crowley didn’t think for a second that the angel would react well to any sort of emotional confession before they were truly free of their ‘sides’.

The look Aziraphale gave him stated that he knew Crowley knew which question and really he shouldn’t be so difficult about these things and _yes_ he was fully aware of the hypocrisy and _no_ that would not stop him from pushing for the promised answer. 

“I said that you always ask for a different table at a restaurant when you realize I would be uncomfortable with the subject matter and insisted on another table away from their dubious topics. You said that wasn’t the reason at all and you would tell me in eighty-five years. So… Time’s up.”

Crowley sighed. “I didn’t know what they were talking about. They were being loud so I didn’t want to be near them.”

“Why not? You like loud people.”

“You’re not loud.”

Aziraphale frowned, his expression torn between hurt and confusion.

“If we had stayed near the loud idiots, I… might not have been able to hear you,” Crowley explained. “It was me being selfish, Angel.”

“Oh.”

Crowley looked away from the disappointed expression that _had_ to be on the angel’s face.

“You know that’s rather-” Aziraphale cut himself off.

Crowley turned his head back warily. “Rather what?”

Aziraphale smiled at the ground and glanced up at Crowley. “Rather swee- thoughtful... It’s rather thoughtful, Crowley.”

He didn’t appreciate the fact that the angel had almost used the word ‘sweet’ to describe him. However, he did appreciate the last minute cover-up. Then again _thoughtful_ wasn’t much better than 'sweet'.

“Shut up, Angel.” He snapped and the television came on to a show where a British person was baking. 

Aziraphale was shocked. “What is this?”

“Channel one-hundred-and-thirteen. Cooking channel.” 

Crowley smiled while Aziraphale suddenly became interested in modern technology.

“You know, Crowley,” the angel turned to him, “I wouldn’t mind if you went to bed. I know how much you like sleep.”

“Nah, m’fine.”

“You’re exhausted,” Aziraphale gently pushed. “Stopping time like that takes a lot of strength.”

“Well I’m not going to sleep so it doesn’t matter where I am. May as well stay here.”  
Crowley then made the mistake of meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. Even with the sunglasses he knew Aziraphale could read his expression. The assurance that he was absolutely fine died in his throat. 

The angel turned his attention to the screen. He shifted on the couch and suddenly his left leg was much closer to Crowley’s right. 

Crowley glanced over but didn’t comment. It was nothing. Complete coincidence. 

“This couch isn’t as homey as mine,” Aziraphale remarked stiffly. “It’s completely impossible to get comfortable.” He shifted again and their legs almost touched.

The demon glanced again. Was Aziraphale trying to touch him? Was that permission? He held back a shrug. Only one way to find out. 

“It’s stylish,” Crowley retorted. He shifted slightly so their feet pressed against each other. Just barely. Just enough to show he wanted it. 

Wanted, desired, needed; definitely one of the three. Possibly two. Probably all.

When Aziraphale didn’t so much as tense Crowley pressed a little harder. 

The angel and demon relaxed at the contact. It was the tangible proof that they were both alive and safe. At least until morning when Their Plan would be in motion. 

“I will never understand how you can put style before comfort.”

There was no panic, hesitation, or regret in his voice so Crowley pushed his luck and oh so casually moved so they were touching from knee to foot.

“And I will never understand why that woman put mango in a cake.”

Aziraphale’s head snapped to the television but he didn’t move away. In fact, he increased the pressure against Crowley. It was only for a second but it made Crowley smile on the inside (on the outside he bit his cheek).

“In a cake? What on Earth is she thinking?”

“People put pineapple in cakes.” Crowley shrugged at the doubtful frown. He smiled. “I guess we’ll have to try it sometime.”

It was hours before they switched bodies and went their separate ways. Aziraphale was content to watch the way food was prepared (though he wasn’t as interested as he appeared; eating food was much more enjoyable). Crowley was content to listen to Aziraphale’s reactions (fully aware the angel was overdoing his ‘interest’ in the show). Naturally Aziraphale knew that Crowley knew what he was doing. And Crowley knew… Well, they never tried to figure out who knew what more. Suffice it to say that they knew each other very well, having been friends for six-thousand years, and were glad to be spending what was possibly their last night of existence with each other. Even if their night was spent watching a television program that neither were really interested in.

They were _alive_ (for the moment), together, and that was enough.


End file.
